


Princes need Love, Too

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: AU, First Time, Hutch is royalty, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:07:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: Crown Prince K'nnet meets a comely knight, Sir David, on a quest to ferret out cruel and dangerous Lord Gunther before jousting amongst the bedclothes. Originally published in the 2018 SHarecon zine.





	Princes need Love, Too

Princes Need Love, Too  
by Dawnwind

“How many others?” K’nnet Hutchs’on, Crown Prince of the First Realm, Arch Duke of By’city, and Prince Regent of Minn’Sot asked wearily, escaping the throne room for his private apartment. He strode across the marble floors, his boot heels loud as he went up the staircase and down the corridor. 

“There’s one last.” His sister, Her Royal Highness Princess Karenell, kept in step, following him into the untidy rooms. She ran past the piano and unfinished canvases strewn along one wall to peruse their interrupted chess game. 

“How is it you know this?” K’nnet groaned, lifting his hair off the back of his velvet collar. He hated wearing formal court garments, particularly when his father compelled him to attend these loathsome ceremonies. There was only so many eligible young aristocratic women he could stomach parading in front of him before he revolted and departed for the farthest reaches of the inhabited realms. Well past the Second and Third Realms, at any rate. 

“I keep my ear to the ground, and listen to what Father tells you.” Karenell giggled, her fingers twitching above the chessmen. “While you have your nose in a book of poetry or that enormous tome on—what was it, law?”

“Criminal statutes,” he replied, batting her hand to one side. She wanted his queen, but she was not going to get it. He paused. What move had he planned an hour ago, before the audience with Octobre, the Duchess of Duluth? She’d simpered and batted her eyes at him over the tea and cakes Horatio Bear had served. Only a few minutes with the admittedly beautiful but vapid girl had put K’nnet off his appetite for his favorite cheese loaf. If betrothed to her, he’d have gone raving mad inside of a year. “I’m in charge of the police and military now, eventually I’ll rule the known Realms—“

“Father never worries about actually solving crime.” Karenell plunked down on the padded bench beside the board, the layers of her blue silk skirts rustling like wind through the leaves of a tree. “Are you going to take the turn or forfeit?”

“Hold your horses.” He smirked at her, picking up the Bishop to move him two squares over and one down, blocking her queen in the process. 

“You’re a brute!” Karenell pouted prettily, although her blue eyes were merry. She moved a pawn.

“I hadn’t expected that!” K’nnet sat down, thoughtfully running a hand from his throat to his chest. He touched the moon and star of the royal seal stitched on his velvet doublet. She really was a better player than he ever gave her credit for. He’d have to reorient his strategy. “Father cares for diplomacy and statesmanship, and keeping the peace in the Realms. He’s a good king, but perhaps short sighted about what happens beyond the walls of our castle—to the average person. There’s no challenge in that.”

 _Ah! The Lawson maneuver_ —that was the way to go. He moved his bishop diagonally as was allowed, and glanced up to see her twist her long blond hair around a forefinger, a sure sign she was flummoxed. “I like to tease out the puzzle, search for evidence, clues. How did the criminal succeed and what will it take to unmask him?” K’nnet had already begun to accompany the royal police on their investigations, and every one had given him new insight into the less savory sides of life. 

“Father believes that once you’re wed, you’ll drop this hobby,” Karenell put in, her hand hovering over her king before she picked up her cavalier and jumped him over K’nnet’s pawn. 

_Now who was boxed in?_

“He’s never understood my interests.”

“And why would that be?” Karenell’s eyes widened in mock surprise, turning her head to take in the wide variety of cast off hobbies around the chamber. 

“I still play that guitar,” K’nnet said defensively. Admittedly, he hadn’t used the jousting lance or the two wheeled speeder in years. But he liked the way the place looked. It suited him; from the large piece of driftwood he’d brought in off the beach when he was a boy, to the many green plants he’d potted himself, and the variety of chairs he’d appropriated from around the palace. Once in his apartment, the housekeepers weren’t allowed to drag them back to their proper places. “And I continue to delve into the mysteries of the body/mind with yoga and meditation.”

“Again, all of which you’ll have to put aside once you are married,” Karenell pointed out, moving another pawn forward, the only play she could make without placing herself in check. 

“What about your suitors?” K’nnet countered, a vague sensation of desperation settling in his chest. He was to be the next ruler, surely he had some say in his own mate? “You scorned Lord Damion’s advances in less than a fortnight.”

Karenell scowled, twitching the lace on her left sleeve into submission. “Lord Damion doesn’t have the brains God gave a cow.”

“And he doesn’t give milk, either.” K’nnet chuckled. “Your eye is on Lord Ludlum, the lieutenant in the Royal Guard, I wager.”

Karenell’s eyes widened and she got up, practically retreating from the discussion. Running her fingers absently over the piano keys, Karenell was clearly trying to come up with a reasonable reply. “What gave you that impression?”

“The way you flutter your eyelashes and duck your head when you join  
Father to review the troops,” K’nnet remarked, neglecting the chess game. “Most mornings. Does he share your affection?”

“Too personal a question, brother,” Karenell said tartly. “But if you must know, his mother is of royal blood but she chose to marry for love and relinquish her claim to the throne of his Realm.”

“Oh, so you have researched his provenance, eh?” K’nnet laughed.

“It’s my duty to stay informed.” She raised an arch eyebrow at him. “The last of the current bunch of hopefuls to become your queen is Lady Vanancy. You’ve met her before, remember? Her father is Lord of Minn’Sot in the Fifth Realm.”

“Skinny, long hair, only wanted to ride ponies?” he asked, trying to recall. As the most sought after prince, heir to the greatest affluence and power in all the realms, he’d met many young women, particularly in the last few months.

“Vanancy!” Karenell repeated, exasperated. “She was twelve the when we visited Minn’Sot Palace. The three of us went on a picnic with her governess and your minder.”

“I sat on the bank of Lake Superior and fished while the two of you ate cookies and talked of ponies.” 

“Since she’s my age.” Karenell crossed her arms, obviously waiting for him to make another move. “She’s undoubtedly no longer skinny with long hair.” 

“Then curved like a viola in the orchestra with curls abounding.” K’nnet chuckled, seeing the path on the black and white squares as if by magic. He moved his queen into place. “Checkmate.”

“Fairy breath and bother,” Karenell grumped with a flounce of skirts. “Apparently Vanancy has been delayed but will arrive on the morrow. You’d do well to remember your weekly shave.”

His pride over winning doused, K’nnet rubbed his slightly bristly cheek. “I will have you know I shave regularly!”

~~**~~

The month of Mars had never been K’nnet 's favorite with its gusts of rain for days in a row followed by dreary, foggy mornings that never quite shook off the damp. Towards the end of the month, the sun would shine, true and steady like an old friend who’d arrived quite suddenly, as if not at all sure whether he was planning to stay. 

This was one of those in between days with thick mist that would probably burn off slowly by noon. He stared out the windows to the drive below. A coach drawn by a quartet of gray horses—almost exactly the hue of the overcast sky—pulled noisily to a halt in front of the palace. The Royal Guard, in the blue Hutchs’on livery with the sun and moon embroidered on the left breast, came out to greet the newcomers.

K’nnet recognized the sigil painted on the side of the coach, a rampant lion on a field of green, holding a rose in its paw. The Roseallyns, as in the Lord of Minn’Sot of the Fifth Realm. Vanancy’s pater.

Keeping the Fifth Realm under the auspices of the Royal family would protect the farthest borders from attack. K’nnet didn’t have to hear the echo of his father’s words to acknowledge that. The recent war in the Far Country of V’Nam was a constant reminder of potential threat. 

As familiar as the sigil was, the young woman stepping out of the gilt door was not. She had brown hair piled up on her head in the Minn’Sot style, with a curl along her left cheek. Karenell always said that long ringlet reminded her of a sausage. K’nnet chucked, his belly rumbling.

Before the servants set out breakfast, Father had started in on the importance of retaining the family traditions and of marrying well to secure progeny. Unable to listen to a repeat of Father’s current lecture, K’nnet had grabbed coffee and a butter cornet, and gone to water his plants. He rather wished he’d taken one of the succulent sausages now.

He unlatched the window, pushing the pane open enough to hear what was happening below.

“Welcome to Hutchs’on Palace, my Lady,” Horatio said formally, standing stiffly on the front step.

From his angle looking straight down, K’nnet couldn’t quite see the House Major, but his voice did carry.

Vanancy’s did not. She spoke softly, glancing around with nervous caution before stepping out of the coach. Little wonder, since the ground was still pockmarked with puddles from the rain earlier in the week, and she wore delicate golden slippers on her long feet.

Exactly as her shoe touched ground, a man appeared from around the side of the coach, extending an arm to stop her. He tensely scrutinized the courtyard, toting what was presumably her satchel in his right hand. However, K’nnet could see a holstered pistol on the belt slung low on his hips. And what hips.

K’nnet shifted to relieve the sudden pressure in his groin. He’d never seen anyone so—perfect. It was as if his nightly dream prince had been brought to astonishing life. The man had wide shoulders and a chest tapering to a slender waist that swelled out again to rounded buttocks. He wore a felt hat with a bedraggled, trailing feather, his hair dark and riotously curly, tied back in a queue that bounced with every movement. His black breeches were not loose in the current fashion but so tight K’nnet could make out the bulge between his thighs from this distance. No need of a stuffed codpiece on that man! There was a red surcoat with a diagonal white stripe over his doublet, a sigil K’nnet didn’t know.

His own words came back to him: _curved like a viola in the orchestra with curls abounding._

Who was he?

Vanancy had no brothers, of that K’nnet was sure. 

The man surveyed the courtyard with the eye of a soldier alert for danger. When he’d ascertained that the area was safe, he escorted Vanancy quickly to the steps, standing at attention as she walked up and disappeared inside.

K’nnet heard the rapid patter of feet running down the corridor outside his room: Karenell going to greet Vanancy, unless he missed his guess. He’d be served up as the main course soon enough, no need to meet her Ladyship at the front door. Let her settle in to the guest chamber, perhaps freshen up. All the young women did that, didn’t they?

He wanted to question Horatio Bear on the handsome soldier. Immediately. 

Taking a last look out the window, K’nnet realized he’d missed seeing where Curly had gone—into the palace or to the stable with the horses and coach.

Damn. He closed the sash on the window and yanked on the tapestry bell pull to summon the butler. His belly still rumbling, K’nnet sat on the settee, poking through the bowl of fruit on the low table in front of him. He generally gave all the fruit to the urchins clustered around the front gates, their palms held out with hope for food.

The apple kept him slightly sane while he waited, but did nothing for the swelling going on in his breeches. It had literally been years since he’d experienced such lust, such arousal for a man. Although there was no ban on romancing men in By’city as there was in some other realms, K’nnet had always recognized that he should not indulge publicly. The occasional dalliance had been acceptable when he was coming up, out in the Third Realm to fulfill his education, but not now that he was nearly seated on the Golden Throne. Not with his father expecting grandchildren to carry on the Hutchs’on legacy.

The mantle of royalty had never felt so heavy.

“Your Highness?” Horatio knocked discreetly on the doorframe as he entered.

“I will attend Lady Vanancy in an hour’s time,” K’nnet said, handing his servant the apple core. 

“Yes, your Highness,” Horatio replied but there was that typical hint of sarcasm in his voice. He made a show of dropping the remains of the apple in a small metal bin beside the fruit basket.

K’nnet had always liked that Horatio didn’t bow down to the family. He held his own, had opinions, and knew the workings of the household like no one else. 

“You’d be interested in Her Ladyship’s escort?” Horatio raised a dark eyebrow, rocking back on his heel.

“A family member?” K’nnet asked as if it really didn’t matter to him.

“Not that I can tell,” Horatio replied. “Name is Sir David Star-sky. He’s from Neuyok.”

“From the Far Coast?” There was a surprise. It wasn’t often that folk from Neuyok came this far west. No wonder he looked so exotic—all those dark curls so unlike the mostly blond or light brown haired people of By’city or Minn’Sot. “How did he come to escort Lady Vanancy?” 

“That is an interesting tale,” Horatio began, walking around the room picking up the book K’nnet had left on the window seat, the bottle of ale on the piano, and the tunic he’d forgotten to put in the laundry hamper. “Apparently, Lady Vanancy’s Captain of Arms was killed on the journey—“

“Why weren’t we told of this?” 

“I’m telling you. Sir David is even now in conference with His Highness, your father, to give the details.”

“Then I should be privy to the most up to the minute information.” K’nnet jumped to his feet, rushing the door. 

“You might want your shoes, Highness?” Horatio suggested lightly.

~~**~~

“Son!” King Ricard called out when K’nnet entered the private meeting chamber off the throne room. “Come meet our guest.”

The man was even more breathtaking up close. K’nnet felt like he had thrust into the pages of one of those romantic novels Karenell liked so well. His heart was pounding, and it was more difficult to breathe than usual. 

“Your Highness, Sir David Star-sky, at your service.” The curly haired man bowed down on one knee, removing his hat left handed and sweeping his right hand in a wide arc.

“Please stand, Sir David,” K’nnet encouraged, walking around the wide table to sit next to his father. “I’ve been informed that you had a harrowing journey with Lady Vanancy.”

Star-sky nodded, glancing at the King as if asking whether to repeat his tale again. Ricard inclined his head in agreement, motioning to a servant in the Hutchs’on blue to pour a cup of water for the knight.

“Captain Pablo de Ortega was in command of the squad sent to guard her Ladyship,” Starsky began, a flash of anger passing over his face before he regained his courtly demeanor. “We’d traveled about a day’s ride when a group of men attacked us, nearly surrounding us. We fought them off—but Pablo was killed.”

Horrified, his budding passion was forgotten. “What colors were the men wearing? What house were they from?” K’nnet asked.

“They wore all black, without banners or sigils,” Star-sky reported, taking a sip of the water the servant had placed at his elbow. “I was second in command, and felt it was most important to get Lady Vanancy to safety. After a brief battle, they withdrew.”

“He sent most of the squad after the criminals,” the King spoke up, “and brought Captain de Ortega’s body here, with two other soldiers to accompany him, along with Lord Roseallyn’s daughter .”

“We are ever in your debt for keeping Lady Vanancy safe,” K’nnet said. “You say you were a days’ ride out from Minn’Sot?”

“Yep,” he answered, the look in his eyes not one K’nnet would have liked to see on an enemy. 

This was a formidable man, and K’nnet wanted to be at his side to investigate this tragedy. “So, approximately thirty miles from By’city.”

A wisp of a smile played on Star-sky’s lips, as though he could read K’nnet’s mind. He looked up slightly and K’nnet was sure the man could see right into his soul. “You wish to see where the incident occurred,” he said succinctly.

“Right after we question the Lady Vanancy,” K’nnet added, a sense of excitement, of purpose, building inside him. He should be saddened by the death of a good man, but instead, he only felt elated that he could spend time with Sir David, possibly alone.

King Ricard fingered the small triangular beard on his chin. “You have suspicions about the young woman, K’n?”

“Father, who knew she was coming?” K’nnet reasoned, the wealth he’d gleaned from his recent reading congealing into a cohesive whole. Approach an investigation from a standpoint of logic and reason—who had the most to gain, or lose, by what had occurred. Had Vanancy wanted to be offered up as his bride? He’d so disliked the entire obligation that he’d never considered what any of the women might have thought.

“She was most distressed when de Ortega died,” Star-sky said. “Although, I truly doubt she knew any of the guard. The women of Minn’Sot are rarely involved in matters of the state—“

“Unlike By’city, where your sister injects herself into every official conference,” Ricard said with a fond roll of his eyes.

Which made her more of an asset to the Realm, K’nnet thought privately. “Do you know anything of these men in black who attacked?” he asked Star-sky.

“I did not recognize a one,” Star-sky admitted, clearly angry at his own shortcomings. “However, one of the guard said he’d heard rumors of the Duke of Gunther offering gold to any soldiers for hire.”

“Mercenaries?” Ricard shook his head grimly. “James Marshall Gunther is a ruthless man who will stop at nothing to obtain what he wished. Perhaps he planned to kidnap her? Vanancy would come with a handsome dowry.”

“Which would double his holdings,” K’nnet surmised. “Land, a port—“

“He’s made much of his wealth from contraband and medicinals,” Star-sky reported. “He’s taken to practically giving away mushrooms that cause visions to the poor, as well as herbs that suppress pain and induce a strange malaise. The people have little to eat. Once they consume the medicinals regularly, they become accustomed to the sensations, and want the sensations daily. They would steal money to obtain more, and then they are in his sway.”

“I’ve heard of this.” K’nnet nodded, his memory jogged. A conversation with Captain Dobey, commander of the Royal Guard and police. “Except we didn’t know of the connection to this Gunther. We were able to question some locals, although they did not have any medicinals left, and were awaiting shipments.”

“I believe Gunther is trying to enslave much of the peasant folk with his medicinals,” Star-sky agreed.

There was none of the usual deference to his status. K’nnet felt like he were talking to someone of equal rank. And he liked it very much indeed.

“This is outrageous! Why has this not reached my council?” Ricard exploded, fingers clenched. “K’n, you’ve been striving to involve yourself in police work. The time is now. What do you propose?”

“To speak to Vanancy, and not about a Hutchs’on wedding,” K’nnet said grimly.

~~**~~ 

She was lovely, there was absolutely no denying that. The dark curl lay along her neck and shoulders, framing her delicate features. Her eyes the blue of stormy seas and her lips colored like ripe plums. There was no contest in K’nnet’s heart. Standing this close to her, with Star-sky at his shoulder, he knew exactly whom he’d choose, if given the chance.

Karenell hovered between them, concern writ large on her face. K’nnet should have told her his suspicions but he hadn’t wanted her to say anything that might tip Vanancy off. Karenell was probably more intelligent than he was, but she was also far more chatty, especially when there was juicy gossip.

“Highness.” Vanancy curtseyed prettily, her eyes darting around the spartan rooms K’nnet used for personal meetings. No gilt furniture or rare art adorning the walls. There was a strange tension in the way Vanancy raised her chin, as if already on the defensive. “I am so grateful you could grant me an audience so quickly.”

“We’d been waiting for you,” K’nnet said, glancing over at Karenell. She shot him a withering look that suggested she’d kick him in the goolies if she didn’t get answers soon.

Star-sky, with his amazing ability to pick up on silent conversation, pursed his lips with a crooked grin.

“In fact, your arrival was later than expected. Sir David has explained to His Majesty and myself that your coach was beset by highwaymen,” K’nnet continued. “Quite disturbing.”

Vanancy’s cheeks flamed, and she crossed her arms over her chest, toying with the Gaelic lace on her sleeves. Diamonds flashed on her fingers as they moved. “I have never been more scared in my life!” she exclaimed. “Dear Captain de Ortega murdered, and…”

“Do you know of a Duke Gunther?” K’nnet interrupted.

Karenell turned away from the other woman so that only K’nnet and Star-sky could read her lips when she mouthed the name in astonishment. Little wonder she knew who he was, she went to far more of the state briefings than K’nnet did.

Vanancy inhaled, her breasts swelling like twin bellows. “He’s an…acquaintance of my father’s.”

“Have you met privately with him?” Star-sky asked in a hard voice, power coming off him in waves.

“What do you take me for, some kind of trollop?” she responded furiously. “Never! I am a Lady of the Realm and I—“

“Except, judging from your gown…” Karenell said with shrewd appraisal, smoothing the other woman’s silver silk skirt, “the jewels on your fingers and the lace petticoats you showed me in your chamber, I’d say you are interested in the finest things money can offer.”

“That gown is expensive?” K’nnet asked. He had little knowledge of what women’s garments cost. Or his own clothing, for that matter. Perhaps he should pay more attention if it yielded information this easily. 

“Of course it is.” Vanancy raised her chin even higher. “The Duke has expressed interest in my favor, but I had to withhold such…intimacy because I was promised to Your Highness.”

“Not promised,” K’nnet said coldly, standing directly in front of her. “One of many paraded in front of me as brood mares for future offspring to sit on the Golden Throne.”

Vanancy growled low in her throat, raising her hand as if to slap him.

Star-sky stepped in front of K’nnet, grabbing her slender wrist in one hand. “You could be arrested and hanged for striking your sovereign leader.”

“Ricard is the monarch but he won’t marry again since Queen Lurance died,” Vanancy sneered at K’nnet over Star-sky’s shoulder. “Duke Gunther is twice the man…”

“Did you know Gunther would stop your coach?” Star-sky demanded, eyes like blue stones that could tunnel through her and rip out the truth.

“He s-said he’d rescue me!” she stammered. “Father’s in debt, I had to sell some of my diamonds to buy this dress. Gunther would have…”

“Take her to the holding cells,” K’nnet demanded, both shocked and ecstatic at the way things had worked out. Would Father cease bringing in prospective brides now?

“As you wish, Prince.” Star-sky grinned with pleasure.

“Unhand me!” Vanancy shrilled, as if only just realizing what she’d got herself into. “I am an aristocrat and due the comforts my station requires. I cannot be sent to gaol.”

“I’ll go with you.” Karenell patted her arm. “Help settle you in, and find something far less elegant to wear whilst you await your trial.”

“My father will hear about this!” she wailed as Star-sky shoved her toward the guard waiting at the door.

~~**~~

Vanancy proved to be a font of information. Stripped of her finery, wearing a dress one of the maids had cast off, she couldn’t stop talking. Quite soon, the whereabouts of Gunther were known. 

Lighthearted despite the dangerous situation, K’nnet chose a quartet of guards to accompany he and Star-sky into Gunther’s territory. If this was the only time he had to be alone with Sir David, so be it, but he wanted to make the most of it. At the same time, he could show his father that he had the ability and wherewithal to bring a criminal to justice. With all luck, they would rendezvous with the two men Star-sky had sent in pursuit of the black garbed highwaymen.

“Beautiful steed!” he said as Star-sky led a muscular chestnut horse with a white blaze down her nose into the stable yard. 

“Torino.” Star-sky patted her with obvious pride. “My old man raised horses, importing them across the Great Sea from Italia. Your mount—“

“Would not win a beauty contest nor a prize in the local faire,” K’nnet acknowledged, rubbing Squash’s flank affectionately. “Karenell dubbed him Squash when his twin landed directly on top of him at birth.”

“I’ll bet he’s unstoppable on the trail.” Starsky stepped into the stirrup and mounted, his black leather breeches tight over his ass as he settled into the saddle. 

“There isn’t a better horse in my father’s stable,” K’nnet vowed, his mouth dry. How to get Star-sky in private, to talk man to man—and possibly do other things. He’d heard that those in Neuyok were even less concerned with the way a man coupled than By’city.

But first to track down Gunther for the murder of de Ortega and to stop his shipments of dangerous medicinals. They rode hard for several hours with little discussion, two guards leading the way and two taking up the rear flank.

“Did you know de Ortega well?” K’nnet asked to spark conversation.

“Not at all,” Star-sky admitted with a sad shake of his head. “But no one deserves to be cut down by that man. Avenging his murder is an honor.” 

“It is indeed.”

“Her Ladyship admitted that Gunther had promised her wealth beyond her imagining,” Star-sky said as they crested a low rise looking down on a wide, lush valley. “Because of her father’s debt, he’d been borrowing from Gunther, unable to manage his Realm without immediate cash flow.”

“Which my father would never have approved of,” K’nnet said, squeezing his thighs against Squash’s flanks to urge him up next to Torino. “Fiscal responsibility, frugality, and cautious business ventures are his watch words.” He and Star-sky rode side by side down the gentle slope, their knees occasionally brushing on the narrow trail. “You don’t seem to be of the Roseallyn house. How is it that you came into Lord Roseallyn’s militia?”

“I joined only a few weeks ago,” Star-sky replied, looking around at the low, green hills surrounding them, and the hawks flying above. “I’d been in the Great War for several years.”

“In V’Nam?” K’nnet asked. He’d led such a secluded life, rarely allowed to venture beyond the borders of the Realm, even when he’d been in the Third Realm for schooling.

“It was a horror, one I’d never repeat, but turned out, fighting was all I knew.” Star-sky patted the holstered pistol at his hip. “I couldn’t stay in my mother’s house any longer, so I traveled into the outer Realms. When money was low, I had to seek employment.”

“I suspect that Lord Roseallyn will be unable to provide your wage hence forth,” K’nnet observed with a lift of one shoulder. Squash whinnied and was echoed by Torino. _Were the horses now friends, as K’nnet hoped he and Star-sky would be?_

“Out of a job once again,” Star-sky sighed.

“If you’re interested, I can give Captain Dobey, in command of the Royal Guard, your name. We are always on the alert for suitable candidates.” A little too late, K’nnet realized he’d made it sound exactly like the maidens paraded for his approval.

Star-sky turned to look at him, and K’nnet fell into those deep blue eyes. He wanted to stay there forever and a day.

“I am interested, Highness.”

“Please, out here—there is no rank between us,” K’nnet said to rein in his lust. “Star-sk…”

“Prince K’nnet!” A seasoned guard, one K’nnet had ridden with many a time, galloped up from the front.

“Sir Max,” K’nnet acknowledged the man.

“Davel and I spied Gunther’s estate. Guards stationed out front, but they didn’t catch wind of us.”

“You are certain?” Star-sky dug a long-lens out of his saddle pack and extended the scope. 

“We’re here to tell the tale, eh?” Max retorted with a swift grin. 

“Did you come across any sign of Eustace and Marsham, wearing Roseallyn colors?” Star-sky asked. “They were trailing the murderers.”

“Nary an extra hoof print, Sir David,” Max replied, shaking his head.

“I fear they were captured,” K’nnet put a hand to his breast. That would be disastrous.

“Or worse,” Star-sky muttered grimly.

“They could still be on the trail. We six are such a small unit, there are ways to sneak through his defenses,” Sir Max said with the confidence of a seasoned guard.

“Continue your reconnaissance,” K’nnet urged. “We’ll confer with Ludlum and Anhel, and rendezvous with you in one hour.”

“At the large tree split asunder by lightning, two miles from here.” Max pointed down into the valley. “The manse is on a rise about a league farther.”

Waiting until he’d ridden away, K’nnet glanced behind them. He could just make out the rear guards riding closer. “Starsk, we’ll wait to alert them of the plans.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” Star-sky chuckled, loosening the reins to let Torino munch on the grass alongside the path.

“The first time I was interrupted,” K’nnet said with mocking loftiness. “Yet, it suits you.”

“Then I need a nickname for you, as well.” Starsk gazed over at him with a slight smirk. “Hutch.”

His cheeks warmed at Starsk’s fond regard. “No one’s ever called me that. I like it.”

“So do I,” Starsk said, nudging Torino close enough to Squash that he could brush a palm across the top of K’nnet’s boot. “You’ve leaves lodged there,” he explained, his hand lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

“Once this is concluded…” Hutch began.

“Yes.” Starsk glanced at him under impossibly long black lashes. “We should, my liege,” he said as Ludlum and Anhel arrived.

~~**~~

Waiting until night, under a narrow sliver of the moon, Hutch and his men moved in. Starsk made quick work of a locked gate in the back of the property, allowing them entrance into Gunther’s lair. They stole through the ornamental gardens. All featured elaborate plantings of flowers and aromatic herbs that perfumed the dark Several rows of vegetables reminded Starsk that their short meal break hadn’t slaked his hunger. However, the low beds provided little cover for the creeping men who crouched behind shrubs and hedges.

Starsk stuck close to Hutch, intent on the mission. He yearned to fantasize scenes of he and Hutch coupling, running his fingers through Hutch’s fine blond hair, unbraiding the plait that hung by his left ear, and kissing his sensuous mouth. Those dreams were far too diverting when they were hunting a dangerous man. For now, the fact that they were forced to stand crowded in close to the shadow of an arched trellis hung with night blooming jasmine, their bodies touching from chest to thighs, had to be enough. 

Hutch was a big man, taller and wider than Starsk, and the idea of being surrounded by that handsome man flitted through his mind until he quashed the vision. Not now.

“There,” Hutch whispered, taking Starsk’s hand in his to indicate the direction he was pointing when it was too dark to see. “A lighted room.”

Flickering candlelight illuminated a mullioned window for a moment before a heavy curtain was drawn over the brightness. Still, they had a destination.

Starsk had expected dogs, or alert guards, but no one stopped them. Anhel and Max positioned themselves on either side of a large wooden door near the window Hutch had seen. Davel was hidden against the trunk of a tree a few yards away, alert for interlopers. Starsk wished they’d come across Eustace and Marsham to join their band, but it was too late to call for extra recruits. He and Hutch had Ludlow at their heels; that would be enough.

_How to get in to the manse?_

He didn’t even have to look at Hutch to know exactly what the other was thinking—breaking in the door or the expensive glass of the window pane would risk their element of surprise. And while he’d been able to pick the lock on the gate, the door was most probably barred from the inside. 

Until it opened, an aproned kitchen wench venturing out. Starsk hadn’t put together the connection of herb gardens and cooking until then. Of course! They’d come around to the kitchen.

The girl was carrying a large bin filled with the castoffs from dinner. She took two steps past the Hutchs’on men pressed against the wall before realizing she was not alone. 

Starsk crossed the distance between them in an instant, placing one hand over her mouth to steer her away from the open portal. “No sound, lass,” he whispered. “We’re the welcoming committee.”

She trembled, eyes bright with tears even in the darkness. She couldn’t be much older than twelve. “We won’t hurt you,” he soothed into her ear. Long tendrils of hair tickled his nose. He would have preferred a bristly male cheek and the brush of blond sideburns. “Davel here will help you with your chores as long as you don’t say a word.”

Davel came away from his tree trunk, taking her bin when she nodded. “My lady,” he said kindly.

Starsk had to scramble quickly to catch up with the prince, which made him decidedly cranky. What was Hutch thinking, going in without him? Sir Ludlum had his back to the door, waiting until Starsk slipped through. 

This late at night, the kitchen was deserted, banked coals in the vast fireplace glowing a cheery orange. The staff must have gone to their small rooms to get what little sleep they could before rising at dawn to light the candles and cook stove. Leaving only the young maid, probably lowest ranked of the servants.

Hutch was half hidden behind a thick velvet curtain that divided the kitchen from a large dining hall, only the pale corona of his hair visible in the dimness. At the far end of the dining hall was a door. By all calculations, judging from the location of the light they’d seen, someone was in that closed room. 

Drawing the flintlock from his holster, Hutch looked over his shoulder. Starsk met his glance, hurrying to accompany him. They’d walk in, united, to confront the enemy.

Hutch nodded somberly, taking a long breath. As one, he and Starsk strode across the formal dining room. The table was vast, taking up much of the chamber. Probably could have seated fifty or more guests, with a huge chandelier hanging directly above. None of the candles were lit but there were two or three wall sconces with oil lamps providing flickering illumination.

No one appeared to challenge them, and the tension was palpable. Starsk recalled battles in V’Nam that hadn’t filled him with such dread. Was it because he feared for Hutch’s life more than his own? How had he found the one he’d been seeking for half his life on such a night as this?

Thick carpeting muffled their footsteps as first Hutch, then Starsk, walked past the table. A plush velvet curtain, identical to the one Hutch had hidden behind, covered the window so that even the moon’s meager light didn’t penetrate.

The oil lamps made Hutch’s shadow lengthen across the floor. Starsk was so close beside him that his own shadow blended into the prince’s. He rather liked it that way.

The door wasn’t locked, almost as if Gunther were expecting someone.

Hutch went across the threshold with Starsk in lockstep beside him. Unlike the dining hall, the inner sanctum blazed with light, so bright that Starsk blinked, unable to see clearly.

“Prince K’nnet,” Gunther acknowledged, his voice deep and full, a brass horn sounding a charge. “I had no prior word of a visit from you. The men who invaded my home earlier were Roseallyn’s rejects.”

 _Where were they now?_ Desperate to know, Starsk held his tongue, squinting in the glare. His eyes watered as he focused on a man sitting in a wingback chair. He was dead. An empty tea cup balanced precariously on his knee, his hand so limp, the cup had poured out onto his velvet breeches. “Lord Roseallyn,” he exclaimed. “Poisoned?”

“Duke Gunther,” Hutch boomed at exactly the same moment, raising his weapon, straight and true, at the other man. He could have been the avenging angel from a priest’s tale, protecting the weak and punishing the wicked. “You are under arrest for a variety of charges, most egregious of which is the death of Captain Paco de Ortega, killed while carrying out his sworn duties.”

Gunther didn’t move, as if daring Hutch to shoot. “I’ve not stirred from my home in many days, your Highness. An affliction of my excess, I’ll admit.” He raised an eyebrow, ignoring the dead man sitting so close by. “Gout, my physicians describe it.”

“You don’t dip into your own wares for relief?” Starsk said without thinking. His mouth would get him in trouble someday.

“We have testimony that you hired mercenaries to carry out the deed whilst habituating the populace to your illicit medicinals,” Hutch continued, taking two steps toward Gunther. “What say you in your own defense?”

“I cede until my advocate can be summoned.” Gunther placed both hands on his desk, acting the part of a sickly old man to the hilt. 

Starsky didn’t believe the charade for a moment. There was something snakelike about him, coiled and ready to strike. “Stand with your hands away from your body,” he said. “We’re not waiting for your lawyer, are we, Highness?”

“Nope.” Hutch grinned widely. “He’s about to get a private meeting with my father, the King.”

~~**~~

Lord Ludlow took charge of the prisoner, escorting him back to By’city with Sir Max, Davel, and Anhel. Which left Hutch and Starsk alone.

For the first time.

There were other matters to attend to first. Eustace and Marsham were discovered chained and battered in the cellar, although both proclaimed themselves able to walk on their own accord. They helped Hutch and Starsk empty the manse of the staff, sending them behind their master’s caravan with promises of employment at the palace. Most were grateful, although a few escaped into the dark.

 _Good riddance,_ Hutch thought uncharitably. It would be easy enough to send out a notice to those in power in the five Realms to avoid any who’d been in Gunther’s employ.

Dawn found them back on the trail, side by side astride Squash and Torino. Hutch took in a deep, cleansing breath, watching the daily glory of the sun rising in the east; gold, orange and molten red swirling together to herald the sun. Gilt rays spread across the sky as if to touch all of the five Realms, and the Far Countries, too.

“I run in the mornings,” Hutch said softly. He should be fulfilling his role as prince of the Realm by accompanying Gunther, but he wanted nothing more than to be with Starsk. Would his father understand? Would he be penalized? What could the King do now that there were no more marriageable women available? “To benefit my physique, of course. but mainly to see this every day.”

“You run before sunrise?” Starsky yawned, only partially concealing it with a leather gloved hand. “Here I thought we were getting along so well.”

“As a former military man, I would think you’d been out before the sun many a time,” Hutch teased.

“Aye, true, but never of my own volition!” Starsk laughed. “I’m beyond tired, my Hutch, where do we…” He paused as if approaching an invisible boundary.

“Go now?” Hutch finished, kneeing Squash to walk forward. “My country estate is not far—“

“There was some place to sleep all this time and you made us attack in the middle of the night?” Starsk groused, keeping Torino in step. “I haven’t eaten in hours!”

“Never fear,” Hutch laughed. “I can provide everything.”

“Everything?” Starsk echoed. “That should be interesting.”

~~**~~

The distance wasn’t a two hour ride, but Starsk was swaying in the saddle as they approached a huge iron gate. Although Starsk never saw Hutch signal the guards posted on the wall, clearly they recognized the son of their Sire. The gates swung open at exactly the right moment: the horses didn’t have to pause for an instant.

The estate in the distance wasn’t as big as the Royal Palace, yet built with the same basic materials. Pale gray and pinkish stone gave it a soft brilliance which seemed both welcoming and comfortable. All the same, it was larger than Gunther’s manse by half again.

“That’s a fucking manor!” Starsky exclaimed. He was unaccustomed to the level of luxury Hutch lived with every day.

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Hutch snickered.

“I—“ Starsky narrowed his eyes at the prince. He had to admire how Hutch had turned around the phrase. That was something to look forward to. “Wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know.” Hutch cocked a blond eyebrow with an suggestive grin. The little plait hanging beside his left ear moved in the wind, the feathers in his wide brimmed hat fluttering as if hair and feathers were waving at Starsk.

He hadn’t expected such—lasciviousness from a prince. Starsk rocked slightly forward in the saddle to alleviate the sudden swelling ache in his groin.

“Something amiss?” Hutch was far too amused by the whole thing.

“Ready to get out of the saddle, eat sausage…” Two could play at this game. Starsk watched Hutch out of the corner of his eye. 

Hutch nudged Squash to a trot, suddenly in a hurry to get to the estate.

“So have you got other—“ Starsky paused, slowing Torino just enough that Hutch would have to stop and look back at him to answer. “Estates where you can stay for the night? “

“You have a yen to travel, Sir David?” Hutch asked formally, that smirk lingering on his lips.

“Perhaps.” Starsk urged Torino ahead, his thigh brushing Hutch’s as the horses came side by side. “Have to have the right companions. Traveling alone expands the mind but—“

“Not the heart?” Hutch finished. 

“I might have said stomach, mostly ‘cause I am famished.” Starsk laughed. This was fun. 

“The guards will have alerted the kitchen posthaste,” Hutch intoned with a haughty demeanor that made Starsk snicker. “There will be provisions on the table by the time we reach the coach yard.”

There was. A table that dwarfed Gunther’s was set for two. Plates of cheese, fruit, freshly baked breads, and, indeed, sausage. Starsk’s mouth watered at the display, which wasn’t just the comestibles. 

Some men looked slagged after a night raid and a hard ride in the morning. Hutch looked even more desirable than usual. When he swept off his wide brimmed felt hat, the feathers fluttering through the air like live birds, his blond hair was tousled across his broad forehead. The travel worn clothing clung to his wide chest and long thighs as if painted by a masterful artist.

“Your Highness!” An older woman with gray hair twisted into a chignon and a long blue work-a-day skirt scurried into the dining room as Hutch dropped into a chair at the head of the table. She gathered Hutch into her arms, murmuring loving words too low for Starsk to hear.

His erection diminishing rapidly, Starsk sank into a chair on Hutch’s right and reached for bread and meat. Who was this, now? Even the lowliest subject in the Realm knew that Hutch’s mother, Her Majesty Queen Lurance, had died years before. An aunt perhaps? She was far too old to be another of the women plying for his hand in marriage.

“Mildred!” Hutch laughed, fending off her hugs. “I’m happy to see you, as well.” He swept his arm at Starsk, which left his hand tucked in Starsk’s. “My newest friend, Sir David Star-sky of Neuyok.”

Under Mildred’s scrutiny, Starsk felt himself blush. Where did that come from?

“Ah, is that how it is?” Mildred smiled, her joy radiating like the dawn earlier that day. “Welcome, Sir David. I hope to get to know you far better in the coming week, but for now, I will complete the airing of the Prince’s chambers, and get out of your affairs.” She kissed Hutch affectionately on the cheek and ushered two curious serving maids out with her.

“My governess,” Hutch said, rolling his eyes. “She’s been with the family forever.”

“She can read you like a book,” Starsk observed wryly. “Of course, sitting at the table holding hands does give a certain impression.”

“You’re the first I’ve brought here.” Hutch looked down at their linked hands, giving a squeeze before moving his arm to pick up a slice of cheese.

“Oh.” Starsk’s preconceived ideas fell to their deaths.

“You thought this was where I had my assignations?” Hutch’s lips twitched at corners.

Stuffing a sausage sandwich into his mouth gave Starsk time to think. “Yes,” he admitted. “You rejected the women and craved the men…”

“I crave you, and I think—“ Hutch broke off a piece of cheese, eating some himself and holding out the rest to Starsk. “I think I will crave you until I die.”

“We’ve known each other a span of days,” Starsk said quietly, feeling quite unlike himself. Rarely was he the one to put on the brakes. “Yet, this seems to be a courtship.”

“It is, indeed,” Hutch captured Starsky’s smaller hand once again, raising it to his mouth. First he kissed the fingers, and then ate the morsel of cheese Starsk held.  
“Will you be mine, Sir?”

“Indeed.” Starsk laughed. “I’ve eaten. Would you give me a tour of this great estate?”

Wrapping a sausage, some cheese and two love apples in a napkin, Hutch tucked the package in the pocket of his breeches. “Come along, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to experience a knight in the light of day.” 

~~**~~

Candles sputtered in the breeze as Hutch pushed open the door to his private rooms. Mildred had outdone herself—the chamber blazed with light like a holy place on the Supreme Being’s birthday. Exactly the place to worship Starsk. Hutch felt emboldened, spiritual. He had chosen his own destiny, and knew exactly where it would go.

This would be the more difficult path to negotiate, but he’d given thought to the arguments his father would present.

Now, though, was his time. His and Starsk’s.

“I will undress you,” he whispered, taking the dear man in his arms. It had been so long since he felt fulfilled and whole. 

Starsk dipped his head, placing a kiss on Hutch’s neck just below his right ear. Shivering, Hutch shifted to connect with Starsk’s lips. Soft and yet masculine, a perfect combination. Starsk put both arms around Hutch’s waist, tightening their embrace. His groin was hot and hard against Hutch’s leg.

Pushing Starsk’s coat back, Hutch tried to undress him, kissing all the while. “When I prepare for a state function, there are servants to dress me and then remove the clothes after.”

“So, you’ve never done _this_ before?” Starsk chuckled when his arm tangled in the leather sleeve.

“I have!” Hutch huffed, neglecting foreplay while divesting him. “It’s simply more difficult on a squirming subject.”

“I’m not a worm,” Starsk said, snapping his teeth playfully at Hutch once the jacket was on the floor, followed by the full sleeved white shirt. 

“Ah, but you have a worm,” Hutch declared. He unbuckled the low slung holster belt, careful to lay the pistol on the floor. His own flintlock ended up beside Starsk’s. Caught up in the excitement, Hutch unlaced Starsk’s leather breeches with a suddenly deft hand. “Captured here and demanding release.”

Verily, Starsk’s cock was firm and erect, nigh on bursting its prison. Starsk stepped back, perching on the chaise lounge. He gasped, his breathing rapid, when Hutch liberated the thick length and wrapped both hands around the pulsing warmth.

“Majesty!” Starsky groaned.

“I stand corrected, this is no worm.” Hutch scraped his thumbnail along Starsk’s cock, eliciting a moan of passion from his victim. “It’s a great staff, magical and mysterious.”

Starsk huffed a breath as if speaking and arousal were two things he couldn’t manage simultaneously. “My Liege, you are in full attire, when I am half undone.”

“A rare thing, one only you will see from now on,” Hutch declared with a playful toss of his long hair. “You have the advantage, the rule of the hour, as it were. Should I disrobe or continue on my quest to gain allegiance to said staff?”

“Tis not a staff, but a sword keen to parry with yours.” Starsk reached for the Prince.. “Will not take more than a trice to unsheathe your weapon so that we may joust.”

“A challenge!” Hutch shuffled closer as Starsk unlaced him, parting the thick wool of his breeches. His cock sprang forth full length, loaded for bear.

Starsk laughed, pulling Hutch onto the chaise so that they faced one another, cocks crossed between them. Starsk cupped Hutch’s manhood in his palm and Hutch did the same to Starsk’s, aligning the two. 

When flesh met flesh, Hutch expected sparks to glimmer in the air above them, it felt that explosive. He intertwined his fingers with Starsk’s, their heartbeats synchronizing like chords played on his guitar.

“These are our two souls,” Hutch whispered, leaning in to kiss his lover. Starsk’s unshaven cheek was rough against his, but as he’d once declared to Karenell, he did have need to shave more than once a week. His whiskers were finer but no less bristly when Starsk brushed his lips across Hutch’s jawbone.

“Soft above, hard below,” Starsk murmured, their hands moving in concert. He stiffened, back arched, lips parted in joyous rapture.

Hutch felt that delicious tipping point, that moment when time seemed unreachable and forever, over in the blink of an eye. Yet what a moment, as if a battle had truly been won, victors on both sides, combatants no more but lovers.

He curled up against Starsk’s bare chest, twirling the thick hair there into little peaks and whirls. Starsk’s eyes were closed as he reveled in their combined orgasm. Still clad in his leather jerkin and silk shirt, Hutch was too hot but he didn’t want to move.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Starsk said into his ear. “Is this how we will go?”

“Making love?” Hutch smirked.

“Yes, by all means, but never with you thinking without speaking.” Starsk tugged on Hutch’s plait. “Keeping your intentions from me. Retreating into the royal hegemony.”

“You will always have my counsel,” Hutch vowed, taking Starsk’s hands between his. “Now and forever.”

“And you mine.” Starsk smiled, blue eyes like sapphires mined from the sky. “What of your reign? Your hunt for a suitable bride? I--” 

He seemed poised to flee but Hutch held on tighter. “Tell me, my heart.”

“I cannot live a lie, Highness,” Starsk whispered. “Stand back while you take a queen.”

“Nor I.” It took a bit of maneuvering, Hutch’s legs going one way, Starsk’s another, but they unwound and sat up, arms around each other. “You are my mate, the star to guide me for all my life. When I looked down from the window to see Lady Vanancy, there you were.” He touched his finger to Starsk’s breastbone, over his beating heart. “I discovered my unknown mate, princesses and highborn ladies be damned.”

“I saw you for the first time there with your father-King,” Starsky related. “Both strong and blond, like gods of the old legends. Even with the little tail the myths claimed held the strength of the man.” He flicked Hutch’s plait with a knuckle. “Too gorgeous to be real.”

“Tis not where my strength lies, and thou knowest.” Hutch pretended to wrestle him; he was larger, but Starsk had tensile strength and grit. It ended a tie with both laughing. 

“Me and thee, the Golden Prince and his knight of arms?” Starsk leaned against his shoulder, little giggles bubbling up every once and again. “I still wonder, what of your responsibilities. You will be king some day, and expected to bring forth an heir. That is one role I can never perform.”

“No, and this is exactly what I have been ruminating on.” Hutch raised a finger to count down his intentions. “When, Supreme Being forbid, my Father goes to his grave, I will ascend the throne, but my rule will be shared with my lady sister.”

“Princess Karenell will make a terrific queen.” Starsky nodded.

“I want to continue to police the realms, with you. Seeking out those who wreak violence and rob the people. This is where my talents lie.” He mimed placing a heavy crown on another’s head. “Karenell is the statesman, she enjoys the game. And here’s the key to my plan, exactly why I sent Ludlow on in charge of the prisoner.”

“Ah, putting his part in the arrest to great advantage.”

“Karenell has her eye on him,” Hutch explained, stretching out his foot to touch it against Starsk’s. Neither had shucked off their muddy boots. “Grateful for his assistance in the matter, I’ll bestow a title on his head, they’ll marry, and hey presto, she demonstrates the fecundity necessary to bring forth the royal whelp.”

“The fierce lass I met would not cotton you saying that to her face.” Starsk rolled his eyes. 

“I will come up with a more diplomatic way to phrase it,” Hutch said. “My Father cannot disagree—well, he can, but I believe I have thought through all the angles. We’re together, there will be future Hutchs’ons, and the Realm is secure.”

“You certain you’re for police work and not the law?” Starsk nudged him with his elbow. “Sounds like an argument in the court.”

“My father and I have had many an argument in court,” Hutch said softly, nudging him in return. “He has his way on aspects of state, governance, but on this I stand firm.” 

“And I beside you.” Starsky hooked his arm around Hutch’s neck to draw him closer.

“Welcome to the monarchy.” Hutch kissed him. “How are you at chess?”

The End


End file.
